


In the Ocean They Shall Bury Me

by jade_earrings



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_earrings/pseuds/jade_earrings
Summary: Every once in a while, something would trigger it, and he would remember something from days, months, years ago. Something that had been unlocked by a sound or a smell or a word. Sometimes, it was just a feeling.He’d get a flash of something. And then, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone.The chlorine smell of sweat against skin.And now, here he was, on an island with someone he used to love.Kind of.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Ash Lynx/Shorter Wong
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	In the Ocean They Shall Bury Me

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been kicking around in my head for months now: What if Ash had taken Blanca up on his offer to go back to the Caribbean with him?
> 
> Not very sexy, mostly sad.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jade_earrings)

If someone asked Ash why he did it, why he came here, why he did anything, he wouldn’t know what to say. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think. Most of the time, he thought too much. Most of it went on in the background, a program that was always running, even when he wanted it to stop. He would sink deeper and deeper until something would bring him back; the touch of cold, rain-slicked steel against the side of his hand, the metallic scent of doors opening and closing, a single high-pitched noise above the murmur of the crowded subway platform, above the murmur inside his head. 

Even in the present, even when he was completely physically engaged with the world, the program still ran in the background. 

Every once in a while, something would trigger it, and he would remember something from days, months, years ago. Something that had been unlocked by a sound or a smell or a word. Sometimes, it was just a feeling. 

He’d get a flash of something. And then, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone.

The chlorine smell of sweat against skin. 

And now, here he was, on an island with someone he used to love.

Kind of.

Love had always been a weird concept to him. Ash knew he fell in love, at least a little bit, with anyone who was nice to him. He knew this about himself, and he knew he’d been like this for a long time. 

There had always been the sense that everything he was, and everything he had done, had been shaped and made possible by someone else. Someone bigger than him, who had everything when he’d had nothing. 

For a while, that was Blanca. 

The first time Blanca had spoken to him, something unlocked. Something deep inside him that he didn’t quite understand yet. Ash remembered how it felt when he first heard the soft, even voice, edged with what he’d thought then was a Russian accent. 

“ _Ash_.”

It was soothing. It embodied Blanca completely. Ash had never heard anything like it. 

Well, that had been the second time. The first time Blanca spoke to him, he was shocked, almost wild-eyed and reaching out to him, a movement that seemed involuntary. 

_"Are you alright?"_

When he'd heard those words come out of Blanca's mouth, the genuine concern in his tone, Ash stopped for a moment. And stared. He didn’t know what to think. 

If someone shapes you, gives you your identity, your self, is that love?

Maybe. 

Before he came here, to the island, he remembers reading the letter. He remembers something happening in his chest, something slamming against his ribs, almost knocking him out. He remembers turning on the sidewalk and heading the opposite direction. And he doesn't know why. 

And that's what it was. A feeling. 

Or was it a premonition? He's not sure. 

And then... He was on a plane, like Eiji had been on a plane, staring out from the window seat, trying not to think or feel anything. 

_Not yet. Soon. Maybe someday._

When they’d arrived on the island, the sun was setting. He could barely keep himself awake. 

The house was more like a bungalow. He’d barely made it through the door before he swayed on the spot, exhausted. He wasn’t sure how he got to the small room in the back of the house, Blanca probably walked him there, supporting him with an arm hooked around his back, underneath his arms. Once he’d collapsed on the bed, he was unconscious. 

He slept for eighteen hours. 

He wakes up.

He can feel the sun on his face. He blinks. He’s in Shorter’s childhood bedroom, above Chang Dai. He’s in Shorter’s bed. It’s tucked against the corner of the room. There’s a breeze. He can hear the low hum of the window fan running. There’s an indentation in the mattress next to him. He rolls into it, presses his face against the sheet. It smells like Shorter. 

And then, he hears his voice. 

He can hear his smile, the easy grin coming through his inflection like it always has. He hears heavy footsteps up the stairs, getting closer and closer until they’re right in the doorway. His voice sounds like it’s right next to his ear. 

“Hey, you’re up,” Shorter says.

He can’t remember the night before. Did they drink? He doesn't feel hungover. Did they fuck? He can’t tell. 

“I dreamed you died,” Ash says.

“Mm.” A puff of air escapes Shorter’s nostrils. “Well, here I am.” He gestures, still grinning. 

Ash can’t help it. He feels himself smile. 

“You want some coffee?” Shorter asks him, leaning against the doorway. 

“Yeah.”

He gets up. Stretches. Sunlight is streaming in.

His heart bursts. He knows he'll never be this happy again. 

When he wakes up again, it's dark and he doesn’t know where he is. 

Blanca brings him water. He drinks the whole glass in one go, and then shoves it blindly back into Blanca’s hand, grunting. Blanca brings him out to the kitchen, sits him down in a chair, makes him eat something. He barely remembers. 

He wakes up.

He’s in Shorter’s bed. Alone. 

He’s wearing all of his clothes. The collar of his denim jacket feels grimy against his cheek. How long did he sleep? He can’t remember. 

He hears people moving downstairs, the murmur of voices travelling up the steps and through the doorway. 

God, it all feels so real. 

He hears Shorter’s voice, and then another quieter voice with the same rhythm.

“Ash?”

Shorter and Nadia are both in the doorway. Shorter steps forward and looms over him. He looks younger, his shaved hair grown out slightly. Nadia is next to him, her mouth a hard line, concern etched into her expression. 

Ash blinks. He sits up on the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. He still has his shoes on, on the bed, but no one yells at him for it. Instead, they just look worried. Worried, and a little apprehensive, like he’s a wild animal they’re trying not to scare. 

“Brought you some food.”

Ash blinks again. He didn’t even notice the bowl in Shorter’s hand. He chews his lower lip and then nods, reaching out. Both Shorter and Nadia look relieved. 

As steam rises from the bowl, Ash feels a sting on his cheek. He reaches up with his other hand to probe the skin with his fingertips, and feels a fresh cut with dried blood and several new, tender bruises over his jaw, his cheekbones, his neck. 

Ash lets his hand drop as he catches Shorter and Nadia staring. He stares back at them. Well, up at them. He feels smaller. Or like the room is bigger. He can’t tell. 

Shorter can take a hint. He nudges Nadia toward the door. As their footsteps recede down the stairs, Ash thinks he can hear Nadia whispering. 

_What happened to him?_

He wakes up.

He’s in the apartment he bought with cash. The one he lived in with Eiji. For how long? He can’t remember.

It was nice. It should have been, for the amount he paid for it. The wood and the paint still smelled new. 

It’s morning. The bed is warm and he thinks he feels someone beside him. Then it hits his chest like a brick, like it does every time he wakes up. 

Shorter is dead. 

Shorter is gone, and the money and the apartment and the person in bed next to him can’t fix that. 

It makes him want to die. 

He remembers the first night it happened. They’re in the apartment, he and Eiji, and they’d had some whiskey and he feels himself loosen up for the first time in what feels like a long time, and Eiji is sitting next to him on the bed and he’s too close and Ash feels himself staring, and Eiji actually stares back and doesn’t look away, and Ash feels himself surge toward Eiji with his mouth, one hand going straight to the back of Eiji’s neck as he kisses him deeper than he means to, sliding his tongue between his lips like he did that first time, except now it's desperate and hungry and it hurts.

Eiji doesn't miss a beat. He leans into Ash's touch and makes a soft noise against his lips. 

Ash doesn’t stop. His other hand slips underneath Eiji’s shirt, fingertips sliding over his skin. He feels Eiji’s breath catch against his cheek, and he moves his lips over the side of Eiji’s neck, down into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Finally, Eiji’s hands begin to move, and then...

As soon as Eiji touches him, he feels himself start to shatter. Everything is roaring in his ears and it’s too much, it’s all just way too much. 

He reaches to clutch at Eiji, and makes a sound like a wounded animal.

Eiji freezes.

“I’m sorry,” Ash whispers. “I...I can’t.”

He can feel Eiji’s fingers shaking. When he raises his head to look at him, he can see the color drain from Eiji’s face. 

He feels like this has happened before. When did this happen before?

“Ash…”

He can’t see. He grabs at Eiji’s shirt, his knuckles going white. 

All he can hear is Eiji’s voice receding as the roaring in his head deafens him, as he sinks.

_“Ash…”_

_“Ash…”_

The dream fades, and when his eyes focus, he’s in the middle of another one. Still in the apartment, still with Eiji. They’re standing by the window, and Eiji is looking out over the city. Ash can’t take his eyes off of him. 

_Tell him you love him._

Eiji turns to him, a questioning expression on his face, followed by a knowing one. It’s like he can tell what he’s thinking. 

_No. Don’t tell him. All you’ve ever done is inflict yourself on people._

He hears himself start to speak.

“Eiji, I…”

_Don’t. You’ve taken all his firsts. You don’t need to add this to the list._

Eiji’s lips part, his eyes moving over his face as he trails off.

“What is it, Ash?”

As the dream dissolves, all Ash can think is: _You’re doing him a favor._

The first few days on the island, the first night, even though there is no time difference, he feels jetlagged. He gets up at 4 pm. Then 2pm. He stays up most of the night because he can’t sleep. 

The first few nights he was there, they didn’t talk much. Ash didn’t know what to say. Blanca didn’t seem to mind.

Most nights, he doesn't know why he's here. Maybe Blanca knows, or maybe he doesn't. Ash figures he does. And maybe that's just Blanca's business, and not his own. 

He wakes up. 

He’s dead. 

Shorter is there.

He can feel him by his side, his thigh resting against Ash’s. Warm and solid and everything Ash needs. 

_Wait._ He remembers.

They’re both dead.

Relief floods him. It’s like heroin. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he tells Shorter.

“Nah,” Shorter answers, his voice low and soothing. “You were always going to see me again.” 

Ash feels himself smiling again as tears run down his cheeks. He doesn’t stop them. 

He feels Shorter’s arm around him. He leans against him, exhaling slowly, trying not to sob. Shorter doesn't say anything as he cries. He pulls him close to his chest, his arms wrapping around him completely. Ash sighs, his breathing finally growing less ragged. He feels Shorter's chin rest against the top of his head, and he can feel his tears fall onto his scalp, spreading like raindrops through his hair. 

“Who do you miss?” he asks him.

Shorter is quiet for a moment. 

“Nadia,” he says finally.

He leans into him. 

“Who do you miss?” Shorter asks.

“Griff,” he answers. 

He feels Shorter nodding. 

He's seen the way he could have turned out if he hadn't met Shorter. He didn't like to think about it. 

Shorter knows, too. He knows way more about Ash than he ever would let on. Ash could tell by the way his face moved at certain times. Or the way his voice sounded. Sometimes, when Shorter would hear people talking about him, the way they would refer to him, Ash could see the muscles in Shorter’s jaw clench and he could hear the knife’s edge in his voice. The kind that was reserved only for him, and only directed at the people who had done the worst things to him. 

Shorter might be the only other person who knows everything about him. 

That love was different. Or was it? He doesn’t know anymore. He can’t tell the difference and that’s okay with him, finally. 

He wakes up. 

It’s morning.

He rolls over to look at the digital alarm clock on the small table beside his bed.

8:06 AM.

He’s sweating already, the bed sheet knotting at his waist and sticking to him. He’d kicked off his boxers at some point during the night. 

He sits up, runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. He stretches, then places the ball of his foot against the floor, balancing on it as he slides out of bed. He picks up the t-shirt slung over the back of the chair in the corner, the one he was wearing yesterday. It’s one of Blanca’s, soft and too big for him. He slips it over his head, then pulls on a pair of shorts from the floor next to the chair, the only pair he’d thought to bring. No shoes. 

At the back of the house, Blanca is sitting in a deck chair facing the ocean, a book in his hand. His reading glasses look similar to Ash’s, wire-rimmed and rounded. He holds the book gently, the open cover outspread in his palm, his thumb resting lightly against the spine as he gazes out at the water. His linen shirt is unbuttoned at the top where the fabric meets his collarbones. 

Ash can tell that Blanca already knows he's here. He probably heard the light padding of his feet on the wood of the deck, even if it would have been undetectable to anyone other than him. Ash can feel something just barely shift in Blanca's posture, the rate that he blinks, the way that he breathes. Again, undetectable, except to the person whom Blanca taught everything he knows. 

Well, almost everything. 

He settles into the chair next to Blanca, the one that looks like it was placed there for him. He feels the breeze pass over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. He glances at the book in Blanca’s hand.

“What is it?” 

Blanca holds it up so Ash can see the cover. _The Sound and the Fury._ Ash snorts.

“Faulkner? Really?” 

Blanca smiles serenely at him. 

“You should try it sometime,” he tells Ash, his voice even. 

“Pass.” Ash wrinkles his nose. 

“Then you have no room to criticize.”

Ash can hear Blanca’s smile in his voice now. 

“I liked _As I Lay Dying,_ ” he tells him. 

“You would,” Blanca teases. 

“It wasn’t completely inaccessible,” Ash answers.

Blanca laughs softly. 

This. This feels normal.

As he blinks, breathing in the salt air, he can almost feel his nightmares draining out of his head. 

He thought he was fine. He thought he was getting better. And then something cracked open inside of him with a rush and he couldn’t hold it back. 

He panicked. That’s why he did it. 

He’d had the ticket in his hand, and he ran. He told himself he’d be running if he took the ticket and went to the airport and fell into Eiji’s arms before boarding the plane with him, with nothing but a bag with his passport and a change of clothes. He’d be running, and he didn’t do that. That wasn’t him.

Until now.

He thinks about texting Eiji. He’s thought about it every day since he got here. He could do it. He has a phone, he remembers his number. Or, if Eiji has a new number, Ash is sure he could find out what it is. But, he wouldn’t know what to say.

 _Sorry._ That could be a start. 

_Are you coming?_ Eiji would ask. _I’ll book another ticket._ _Please come._

 _Not yet,_ he’d tell him. _Not yet. Soon. Maybe someday._

_I just need…_

What does he need? He’s not sure. 

Blanca takes him into town so that they can get groceries and other things they need. Throughout some of these trips, Ash moves like he's in a daze. Other times, he's so on edge that every sound, every movement makes him jump, and he reaches for the gun he doesn't have. Sometimes, he sees faces in the crowd he thinks belong to people he knows. People that he knows are gone. That's the worst part, feeling like he can't trust his own senses. 

Ash buys cigarettes and a lighter. He lights one as soon as they're out of the shop. He inhales deeply, then blows smoke out of his nose. 

Blanca has only seen him smoke a few times. 

Ash offers the pack to him. Blanca shakes his head, and Ash grunts as he slips the pack into the front pocket of his shorts.

He wishes he'd kept track of the days. They all seem to blur into each other. How long has it been? Maybe he doesn't want to know. 

\-----

One night, he slides into Blanca's bed. 

He's drunk.

They had been up late, sharing a bottle of whiskey with a dusty label that Ash had found in the back of a cabinet, the liquid inside thick and syrupy through the glass. Ash had dumped it over some ice and finished his first glass way too quickly, refilling it and swallowing until his lips went numb and he couldn't feel his heartbeat. 

Ash had stood up too suddenly and jolted toward Blanca, like he didn’t want to give him enough time to anticipate his movements. Still, Blanca was able to press his hand flat against Ash's chest before he got to him. He’d stared up at him, sucking in a shallow breath as he watched Ash's face, his fingertips still pressed firmly against his rib cage, the heel of his hand at his sternum.

Ash looked dazed and somehow sharpened, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened, and like he was about to fix it.

Blanca’s heart fluttered a little. 

Ash had given him a look that said, _this isn’t over._

Now, in his bed, he's able to slide his lips against Blanca's for a moment before Blanca wraps his hands around Ash's waist and moves him aside. Ash growls a little, trying to clamp his thighs around Blanca just as he is lifted off of him. 

Blanca heard him coming, heard his almost silent footsteps down the length of the hallway toward his bedroom, and had more than enough time to react. He could have kept Ash from doing it, but he didn't. A moment of weakness. Or loneliness. The feeling of someone beside him, and then on top of him… He hadn't felt that in a long time. 

Old habits. 

"Just let me do this," he hears Ash rasp in the dark, his voice slurring slightly. 

He's angry, and Blanca knows he's angry at everyone and everything, but mostly, he's angry with him. And he should be. Maybe this is why Blanca let him lean against his side in the seat next to him on the plane, and why he took him to his house by the ocean and put him in bed and then, when he woke up to the sound of his hoarse voice a couple hours later, he went in with a cool rag and pressed it against Ash's face as he struggled to breathe and murmured in a low, soothing voice into his damp hair in the dark. Ash had slept all through the next day, and when he finally came to, he didn't seem to remember it. 

"Let me," Ash says again, and something inside Blanca wants to. 

Maybe next time, he won’t try to stop him. 

Instead, Blanca pushes Ash down against the mattress with one hand, then reaches up to run his fingers through Ash's hair, impossibly gently. He does this until he feels Ash's breathing slow, the tension leaving his body as he finally passes out. 

The next morning, they don't mention it. For a moment, Blanca wonders if it even happened at all. Maybe he dreamed it. 

Ash saunters into the kitchen, looking a little dehydrated, but his eyes flicker in a way that seems familiar.

"Sergei." 

This rolls off Ash's tongue too easily. It catches Blanca off-guard. 

“Aslan.”

Ash huffs, amused. He hates it. 

Later that day, he takes Ash to the beach.

It’s late afternoon, almost evening, and there are only a few people left near the water. They find a couple of cabana chairs to put their towels down on, and Ash slides his feet out of his shoes. 

When Ash takes his shirt off, Blanca gapes for a moment. 

He’s seen some of Ash’s scars, but not all of them. 

He’s more used to seeing fresh and fading bruises, rope burns, irritated skin from stubble and cologne and God knows what else. 

He’s seen his stretch marks, now faint white lines on the backs of his calves, traveling up to where the skin meets the backs of his knees. He’s seen almost every single freckle, from the ones that dust his cheeks and shoulders every summer to the lighter ones that he has year-round. 

And now, Blanca can see every scar that wraps around Ash’s torso and up his arms. Most of them are white, thick and ropy, and some look new, light pink and just barely visible.

The muscles in Ash’s back flex as he lifts his shirt fully over his head, and then he tosses it aside, the faint golden, almost white line of hair on his lower spine shining in the sun. He glances back at Blanca, and Blanca sees what is almost a smile ghost across his lips before he turns again and heads down toward the water. 

Blanca watches Ash dip his toes in, and then he walks right into a wave, letting his body flatten out as he stretches out on the surface of the water. He goes underneath the waves a few times, and each time, Blanca holds his breath until he sees him surface again.

Ash trudges up the sand again, toward Blanca. He’s smiling now, for real, his wet hair slicked back. 

“Are you coming?” he calls.

Blanca sets his book down on the spot on the edge of the chair with the least amount of sand, then stands slowly, shedding his shirt. He stretches his arms over his head as he heads to meet Ash halfway across the sand. 

The closer he steps, the more he can see how pink Ash’s skin has gotten.

“You need more sunscreen,” Blanca tells him.

Ash laughs at this. “Later.” He squints at Blanca from beneath his hand as he faces the sun. “Water’s nice.” 

They swim for a while, until Ash gets tired. The sun is creeping toward the horizon, casting the sky in deep pink and red. Ash is sitting next to Blanca on the sand. He’s gone quiet, just looking out at the water. 

When Ash turns toward Blanca again, he moves his sunglasses up onto his head so that they hold his bangs away from his eyes. His eyelashes are still impossibly light. 

As Blanca watches him, he almost forgets to breathe. 

He knows Ash won't stay here forever, and he knows he can't try to make him. But after all the times he's seen Ash almost die, and the times he's almost killed him, Blanca is determined not to screw it up this time. He has a chance to protect him again. Finally. 

He knows he can’t give Ash what he needs, even if he knew exactly what that was.

Blanca just watches, which is what he does best. He knows that if you wait for people to act first, or react, that will tell you everything you need to know. Except with Ash. Ash has always been opaque to him in a way that he’s never experienced with anyone or anything else. 

When they’re back at the house, he lets Ash shower first. He’s in there for a long time, the water running steadily behind the closed door. 

Blanca watches the bathroom door for what feels like a long time, then pulls out his phone and dials a number. 

\-----

A few days later, Ash is out on the back deck again. Blanca has been gone for an hour now. Before he left the house, he told Ash that he had something to take care of, and that he would be back soon and not to worry. 

This time, Ash is alone, sinking deeper into his thoughts, turning things over and over in his mind. And again, he can’t stop thinking of both of them. 

Shorter was the one who taught him how to take care of other people. And now he's gone. Shorter is dead and _he_ should be dead and… 

It all comes roaring back, raw.

He'd moved past almost all of it. At least, he thought he had. 

He loved them both. Loves them both. Maybe not in the same way, or maybe he does. Maybe it doesn't matter. 

Ideally, they’d all be together, all three of them. That’s what Ash would want. But he can never have that. None of them can now. Not with the way everything happened. And how it happened so fast. At least now, all of them were safe. Shorter was gone, Eiji was back in Japan, away from New York, away from everything, away from him. And now, he was…

Ash blinks. The sun is setting, the air gone cool. 

He hears something. It's so soft, it's like a breath. He turns his head slightly in the direction of the voice. 

"Ash…?"


End file.
